


Dispatches from the Front

by Malteaser



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: (he's not literally a genie but a LITERAL genie ifyouknowwhatimean), Canon Typical Levels of Creep, Cecil Palmer: Intrepid Journalist and Literal Genie, M/M, Misuse of Carol Lyrics, Multiple Weather Segments, Possibly Childhood Ruining, Regret Joy Laughter and Conversation, Santa Claus: Corporate Tool, Special Christmas Episode, Spoilers: Episode 37- The Auction, Stink Stank Strex, War on Christmas, Won't Somebody Please Think Of The Children?, Yes Tamika You Can Take On Santa, canon typical levels of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 23:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malteaser/pseuds/Malteaser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas has come to Night Vale. You know what that means, right?</p>
<p>War. It means war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dispatches from the Front

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to have a lot more formatting. But that doesn't seem to be working, so, have the format-lite version.
> 
> For all weather segments, the song title links to the song itself, and the artist name to the lyrics. The exception is the last segment, where the lyrics aren't to that specific song, per say, but the song the vocals came from.

Check your house. Is there anything stirring? Any kind of creature stirring? No? Not even a mouse?

Then what are you, listener? _What are you?_

Welcome to Night Vale.

Well, it’s that time of year once again, Night Vale: Christmas Eve. We can’t say we weren’t warned. The signs and portents of this occasion have been visible everywhere: the writing has been on the walls all month now, the words “Dies Natalis Solis Invicti” written in blood over every storefront window, generally followed by the words “Now 20% Off!!!” in neon marker; the sudden appearance of gigantic straw goats in the streets, followed by their equally sudden spontaneous combustion; the intricately carved radishes appearing on every street corner; and the new City Council program to help employ Night Vale’s tarantula community has turned out an impressive number of webs that now decorate the Whispering Forest. Yes, it seems that in spite of several petitions to the City Council and one instance of human sacrifice via self-immolation, December 24th has indeed followed December 23rd, and December 25th will follow. The number of deaths attributed to exposure to the “The Christmas Shoes” has already reached the dozens.

As is tradition, we at Night Vale Community Radio will bring you special extended coverage as these events unfold. Stay tuned, listeners, and be forewarned.

Speaking of forewarning, the annual Sheriff Secret Police Yuletide Emergency Conference has just finished. In case you missed it, the Sheriff himself was speaking this year, his normal balaclava obscured by a fuzzy white beard in deference to the season. “You better watch out! You better not cry! You better not pout, I’m telling you why: Santa Claus is coming to town,” he told the audience, which consisted of the regular assortment of journalists and undercover agents, along with three figures who could not be identified. “We’ve made a list, we’ve checked it twice, we know who’s naughty and nice. Santa Clause _is_ coming to town. But,” he added, his bandolier shining even in the pitch-black darkness of the Sheriff’s Secret Police press room. “ _We_ see you when  you’re sleeping, _we_ know when you’re awake, _we_ know if you’ve been bad or good, and we will not allow a CIA conspiracy of drugged bears to take that away from us, for goodness sake!” His bandolier continued to shine, even more brightly. In fact, you could even say it glowed.

The annual Christmas Light Display Contest has officially ended, and I am proud to say that I have just received the envelope with the results from one of the hollow eyed children the City Council uses as messengers. I think. They were covered in a lot of tinsel: it’s entirely possible that this particular child had no eyes whatsoever.  I am opening the envelope, and- I am proud to announce that one of my Carlos’ scientists has won! Dr. Nadia Naqvi’s display, which can be located in front of the yurts that scientists have been using for sleeping quarters while their apartment is being exorcized, features the image of Muhammad Ali Jinnah’s face in green lights, surrounded by red lights which spell out the Pakistani anthem in Urdu, timed so that they lit up in sequence, like a sing-a-long.

Ah, that brings back so many memories, not only of other Christmas light displays, but of my Boy Scout days, when we would charm the fireflies into spelling out the words of the incantations the younger troop members would need to survive their next merit badge. 

The transmission of information through any means possible is a subject near and dear to my heart, as Daniel could tell. He and I were just having a spirited discussion about that very topic before this subject: he takes a much more specific view of transmission than I do. “Don’t you dare be sarcastic, Thirty-Seven,” he said. “Don’t you dare go against the company line. Don’t you even pretend it’s an option.”

In that spirit of intellectual debate, let’s discuss the history of this night, which not only celebrates the birth of Jesus Christ in a manner that was palatable to the pagans who once made up the bulk of new converts to Christianity, but the preparations George Washington made before crossing the Delaware to defeat the Hessians. These were dark, terrible preparations, involving the first recorded use of drugged bears to control enemies of the state: for more information on the use of witchcraft and occultism during the American Revolution, I hearty recommend that you watch FOX’s new historical docudrama _Sleepy Hollow_ , which has been a refreshing change from their normal fare of psychological horror shows such as _Glee_ and _So You Think You Can Dance_? The-

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Listeners, I have just received a gentle, generously donated, teensy-weensy correction from the new management which I am not allowed to name. Yes, Santa Claus is coming to town, and yes, he does appear to perform several of the monitoring and surveillance functions that might be traditionally described as belonging to the public sector. But Santa Claus is not a sleuth of drugged bears. He is not even a single drugged bear. He is Santa Claus. Santa Claus- like the one at the mall? You know, the one who was not only physically present this year, but  promised all of Night Vale’s children that if they were good, good children, and were at home in their beds come Christmas Eve, rather than drilling in nocturnal guerilla tactics out in the Sand Wastes, that he would bring them a present. A present so good, they would never want for anything ever again. Could Santa Claus really be so cruel as to lie about that? Would anyone be so cruel?

And now, the traffic. Roads remain closed to all forms of sentient traffic besides those using rollerblades or specially licensed wheelchairs, which are to be used strictly to get from one form of sanctuary to another, so you can expect heavy congestion between home and church. Non-sentient traffic will be comprised largely of Ba’al and Asherah, the two golems of Beth Betach, which Rabbi Sammael Maharal confirmed would be on patrol despite the lack of overlap between Christmas and Hanukkah this year.

“After all,” she said. “Hanukkah’s not really the big holiday for us. And it’s not like the Christians don’t help during Purim.” Her eyes became unfocused, the ghosts of Purims past, present, and future dancing between us. “We’ve had some crazy Purim spiels, haven’t we? And no matter how crazy they get, we always need to blot out Haman again come the next Adar 14th. I wonder why that is?”

She also confirmed that Xu Xin’s Xtreme Food Court would be open until daybreak, and that their wontons are delicious. They are indeed, listeners. I’m eating one right now. Delicious is an understatement. Mr. Xu himself has promised that not only will kosher, vegetarian, and vegan options be present and clearly labeled in Esperanto, but that he is working with Roohullah Shah of the One-Stop Butcher, Diary, and Pet Store to ensure that there are options for anyone in need of halal food. Brahamjeet Singh and her husband Roger will be providing cover fire. Alternately, the Mrs. Ruslanevas have announced that their cinema will be showing the Unmodified Sumerian dub of “RoboGeisha”, the family-fun political thriller “The Muppets Take Manhattan”, and the Shawshank Redemption. Covering fire for the cinema will be provided by former Soviet satellites.

The sun has set, and the town is quiet in their preparations for the inevitable horror that will come down upon us. It seems like it should be silent night, Christmas Eve, for all that we know that nearby people are engaging in a wide range of activity. The golems move through the street, gigantic shapes slouching around town like mountains would slouch, if they were both real and mobile. All over town, parents implore their children not to dawdle as they leave out their Yule logs- which the children have painstakingly cared for and fed on a steady diet of sweets and love- as a sacrificial offering to deter the bears. It is imperative that you not be afraid. Bears can smell fear, especially when drugged.

Except, as Daniel has just reminded me by throwing a compact mirror at microphone, there are no bears. There is only Santa Claus. So I must offer this correction: the Yule logs are a sacrificial offering to _Santa Claus_. Not bears. Santa Claus, who is real, and really a man. A jolly old man with rosy cheeks and a white beard. Be sure to be in your beds on time tonight kids, or he might pass you by.

We are receiving reports from balaclava-clad sources that cannot be named that the three unidentified people who attended the Annual Sheriff’s Secret Police Yuletide Emergency Conference have been spotted around town. Though they remain unidentified in the sense that their identities are not known, they are recognizable in the sense that every person who sees them experiences a sense of unease, as though able to tell that the three figures should appear human, but unable to quite believe it. They have been seen in multiple locations, often at the same, but disappear when approached. The most description they can release at this time is that one of the figures appears to be black. More on this story as it develops.

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Strex Corp: Proudly announcing their new line of colas. Drink Stroca Strola, to be a part of something bigger.

It is now impossible to pretend that the night is silent. The church bells have begun to ring, alerting those in Night Vale’s Christian Community that Christmas Services are about to begin, and if you wish to shelter in them you must arrive on time. These churches do not only include Our Lady of the Void, the Manifest of Destiny, St. Allison of Bath, and St. Jerusha, but those belonging to denominations which celebrate the Epiphany more than the Nativity: St. Marqorewos, St. Sarkis, St. Olga of the Flames, and Easow Nazrani. Citizens of Night Vale who are Coptic or Lutheran, and therefore would normally be attending churches which are still closed in the wake of the discovery that their roofs were patched with Jell-O and endangered tamarin monkeys, can find a place reserved for them at St. Marqorewos and St. Allison of Bath respectively. Additionally, though they switched over to celebrating Chalica in 2009, the Unitarian Universalist House of Open Hearts and Open Minds- not to be confused with the House of Open Heart Surgery just across the street, which may or may not be a cover organization for black market organ smuggling operation- will also be open tonight. “But we like to stay open to anything,” Minister Hermione Free said when she stopped by the other day with cookies. “Well, almost anything,” she added, with a significant look at Daniel. Covering fire for the churches will be provided by the usual assortment of children’s choirs and organists, with the following modifications:

First: Star quarterback Michael Sandero will be providing cover fire for St. Olga of the Flames rather than Our Lady of the Void, as apparently he converted from Roman Catholic to Russian Orthodox when his second head became his only head.

Second: St. Allison of Bath will not be covered by either choir boys or choir girls. Instead, they will be covered by choir members of indeterminable, nonbinary, and fluid genders.

Third: Old Woman Josie is not herself:  it is undeniable that she has not been herself since that one particular event among the many events I cannot refer to specifically. Ultimately, this means that Our Lady of the Void is down two of their best snipers. St. Allison of Bath has pledged those of their choir members who fit the gender binary to help cover the loss.

Fourth: Hm. How do I put this? Old Woman Josie is not the only one missing. There are others. Smaller, younger, more physically absent others: determined, fierce, even heroic others. Others who have survived all manner of things both terrible and literary: others who have been going to some place which is not here in groups of dozens or more since the start of the month. Who knows where they are? I do not. Point is, many of the people who would normally being singing warm-up scales from the rooftops while keeping an eye out for what I cannot acknowledge to be a conspiracy of drugged bears do not appear to be in a position to do so this year. I hope you get my meaning. I hope they are safe. I hope they are successful. I hope I have not said too much. I hope-

It seems like it’s time for the weather.

 [[Just Another Christmas Song](http://youtu.be/lMMH_xDKE2A)\- [Stephen Colbert](http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/s/stephen_colbert/another_christmas_song.html)]

We’re back, as Christmas Eve continues to plod frightfully, tremendously onward. My booth has been soundproofed and the window has been blacked out, as a part of Night Vale Community Radio’s new policy of reporting from objective isolation. This policy was implemented over the weather break by those of our interns who have completed the completely optional, but life-enriching, opportunity-enhancing, synergy-promoting corporate desensitization program. As usual, we offer our condolences to the families and other formerly-loved ones of Interns Mozelle, Tebano, and Phil.  

In other news, the three figures have been identified! Daniel has just informed me that these are not mysterious uncanny approximations of humanity at all, but a focus group! A focus group, comprised of three market analysts, which was created in order to focus upon the needs and wants of our friendly desert community. A focus group, which can process all the qualitative and quantitative traits of our community into a series of simple, easy to understand graphs which can then be analyzed in order to better understand us.

“A focus group,” Daniel stressed, leaning well into my personal space. “Which you will in no way describe as a threatening entity. Do. You. Understand?”

I think we all understand, Daniel. This is not a night most people work during, and you’re under a lot of pressure. We understand. Why don’t you take a break? Sit down, relax. I think there’s some eggnog in the break room. Don’t worry, there’s no alcohol: Intern Nasreddin made it. No? Really? Is that what the sparking means? Does the sparking mean no? What are you-

Right. Well, there are very few ways to interpret that gesture, I suppose.

Additionally, I have an exciting announcement to make! A new candidate has just thrown his hat into the ring for next June’s mayoral election. The hat in question is red, and trimmed with white fur which I would assume to have come from a rabbit or perhaps a Shiba Inu. His coat and pants match the hat, but his boots are black and extremely shiny. He has a perfectly symmetrical face, with cheeks which are rosy even in the relative warmth of the studio, and the kind of plumpness which would seem to be the result of not a slow metabolism, hormonal imbalance, or honest enjoyment of food, but a calculated air of nonthreatening joviality. He is the candidate which the station-management-which-must-not-be-named have decided to throw this station’s considerable support behind. Members of the Night Vale community may recall seeing him in the mall: Santa Claus.

~~}Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas!{~~

So. Tell us about yourself Mr. Claus? What makes you think yourself fit to rule Night Vale? That is to say, what are your credentials?

~~}I have successfully run the North Pole since 1866, where I have been a champion of modernization, establishing a toy business which thrives to this day, all while supporting the local industry of reindeer husbandry. Thanks to my efforts, the North Pole has gone from a four igloo town to a thriving metropolis which can support thousands.{~~

And what caused you to abandon the Pole?

~~}I have not! Of course I have not. If I didn’t have the North Pole, where would I get my toys to give to all the world’s good girls and boys?{~~

Yes. You do seem to have a fascination with the behavior of children.

~~}Why shouldn’t I care about the children? Children are the future! How children behave is how the future will behave! Don’t you care about the children? Don’t you want the future to be nice?{~~

I am currently nodding my head.

~~}I am particularly worried about Night Vale’s children. You have so many naughty children here. Naughty children cannot have nice things. Naughty children can even prevent **anyone** from having nice things.{~~

I am- what do you mean by that, exactly?

~~}I mean exactly that.{~~

…okay! So, if elected mayor of Night Vale, what can we expect to change?

~~}I’ll run Night Vale just as I have run the North Pole: fairly and with a twenty-five percent increase on returns each quarter.{~~

That sounds … vaguely nice. Do you anticipate running into any problems, though, with Night Vale being so drastically different from the North Pole?

~~}Oh no, no. Not at all. True, we needed to make some changes for our business model friendlier for your desert community, but we have some experience in deserts, and can adapt.{~~

I’m confused- do you understand what being mayor entails, right? You are promising ‘a twenty-five percent increase on returns each quarter’ and have a ‘business model’ for being mayor.

~~}Yes. And I’m proud to say that we consider Desert Bluffs to be a resounded success.{~~

You do what now?

~~}Consider Desert Bluffs to be proof of our success and adaptability. The businesses there are profitable, and the people are so happy they are beginning to compete with the elves! The business model works, and being mayor is the only way it can be implemented: government in Night Vale has grown too cumbersome. It’s created an oppressive environment which stifles creativity and productivity, don’t you think, Cecil?{~~

No. That’s not-

~~}But you do. I’ve listened to your show. Don’t you get tired of reporting on the edicts of the City Council? Aren’t you happier now that Station Management does not appear in the form of an unspeakable horror, but in the form of Daniel? Wouldn’t you like to speak of the dog park?{~~

_What did you say?_

~~}The dog park. The one that opened on the same day that the scientists came to town, the one with the hooded figures, the one that Dana disappeared into, the one where the current Mayor announced her retirement: wouldn’t it be nice to talk about it. Wouldn’t you like to be nice? Wouldn’t you like to get something as nice as yourself?{~~

I- I think we’re out of time.

~~}Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas!{~~

That was Mayoral Candidate Santa Claus- Night Vale Community Radio Endorsed Mayoral Candidate Santa Claus. If you wish to hear more, he has promised to visit the houses of all good girls and boys with toys sometime tonight. If you wish the hear more and do not have good boys or girls in your house, maybe you can borrow some. I’m not sure what to do if you have a good child who is both a girl and a boy, or perhaps switches between the two. Clarification… does not appear to be forthcoming.

Well. I’m not sure what more I can say. I’m not even sure what more I cannot say.

Incidentally, this year I have had a very Happy Hanukkah, and a somewhat Beneficial Bodhi Day. With luck, I will experience a Kwanzaa which is downright Quixotic- though I am aware that that last one is not, strictly speaking, an alliteration.

There is very little I am currently aware of. This new policy of objective, isolated reporting has made it very difficult to be aware of anything which is not handed to me. You could be going through anything right now, Night Vale, and I would never know. Terrible, horrible things could be bearing down upon our city, and I could not know to warn you. It may be that terrible, horrible things are bearing down upon our city, and I could know, and not be able to warn you. Perhaps terrible, horrible things are already happening, and I am already under their control. Maybe it is time for you, listeners, to follow one of the slogans of our sponsors, and mistrust what you have previously trusted.

Oh wait! Clarification is forthcoming. Hmm… well, it seems as though it does not involve the gender of good children, per say, but rather the fate of bad children. “Santa Claus will also be visiting the homes of children on the naughty list. Even if they are not at home, their homes will be visited, and their punishments meted upon the next youngest relative.”

Yep. That’s what’s on this paper I was handed. That is all that is on the paper I was handed- unless you count the Strex Corp watermark, which I suspect I am not supposed to.

Further clarification is not forthcoming. Nothing appears to be forthcoming. Daniel has moved outside the range of the tiny window which faces the interior of the building, and nothing visible has replaced him. I cannot hear anything outside of this booth. I could try knocking on the door, but my arms are currently strapped to this chair, which would make it a little awkward.  I would try my phone, but I haven’t been able to get a signal down here for days. I am alone, listeners.

 I am objectively isolated and alone.

I suppose I’m going to have to imagine what is going on outside. I remember last year… let’s see. My, that was some time ago. It seems like longer than it really could be.

Carlos and I were not dating yet, and I was not entirely sure he celebrated Christmas, so I didn’t get him a gift or anything. This year, well. Carlos, when you hear this? It’s hidden with the Faceless Old Woman. If you leave out some of those peppermint shivs on the toaster, she’ll bury it out under the old oak tree.

Dana was with me a year ago, interning. It was supposed to be Stacy, but her little brother had been taken to the abandoned mine shaft not long before, so she wanted to spend some time with her remain family at Xu Xin’s. Probably a sound idea, considering what happened to her. Anyway, the violence started dying down around 4am, so we got to talking. Mostly, Dana tried to explain football to me. She’d learned a lot from her Uncle Nazr, and was a cornerback and wide receiver on the junior varsity team. We also went through some of the applications for interns. We can’t do that anymore: the human resources hive selects them for us. Anyway, Dana picked out Vithia and Paolo. Vithia, of course- well. I’m doubly not allowed to talk about what happened to her, but I think I can say that she went to a better place.

Yes. I can say that. Vithia went to a better place, listeners.

Paolo was, of course, one of the casualties of the Summer Reading Program. Tamika herself came by to tell me that he had fought well and would be remembered. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that ultimately, we would all be forgotten, everything and everyone we know turned to so much dust and atoms, which, if we were very lucky, would one day coalesce into a planetary system in which another equally forgettable form of life would evolve. 

I didn’t have the heart, because for a moment I wanted to believe her. I wanted Tamika to be right: I wanted her, extraordinary and brave and fragile and mortal as she is, to be able to conquer something as immutable and powerful as the meaninglessness of life. I wanted human effort to be enough to vanquish the indifferent and powerful forces which govern our existence. And I wanted- something which should be much less grand, but right now? Seems even more impossible.

Listeners, there is someone at the studio window, and that someone is not Daniel. That someone is carrying a large book and one hand, and three coin purses in the other. He has olive brown skin, and the light behind his bald head is giving him a haloed appearance.

Now, I will be the first to admit that I was not the best student to have ever studied Comparative Hagiography- and in my defense, I did take that the year Kjell Thorvalssen went from being adorable to a total beefcake, and he sat right across from me in the lecture hall, and it was really distracting- but there are a few saints you just cannot help but remember.

Saint Nicholas- a Christian saint; patron of children, broadcasters, archers, the falsely accused, and thieves; commonly depicted as a bald, dark-skinned man holding the Gospel in one hand and three purses of gold in the other; one of figures the Santa Claus myth was based off of- he was one of the more memorable ones.

Could it be? Could it really be a long-dead clergyman whose very bones are venerated by a religion I don’t follow just appear outside the studio?

Does it matter, when reciting that list of patronages has given me an idea? An awful idea- a wonderful, awful idea.

Maybe I’ll tell you about it, after the weather.

[[Kidnap the Sandy Claws](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=popPQmikR9w)\- [KoRn](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/korn/kidnapthesandyclaws.html)]

Can you hear me, Night Vale? I can hear me- not just me speaking, but on the small transistor radio the Reading Club members have engineered out of strangely twisted wires and a lemon, so it seems like I still remember a few things from my Boy Scout days. I hope you can hear me too, Night Vale, and I hope you are listening closely.

It was not St. Nicholas who I saw through the studio window. It was Intern Nasreddin, who is apparently a much better Comparative Hagiography student than I ever was. He was using the iconography of St. Nicholas to threaten a violation of copyright suit against Strex Corp. Had that not been sufficient enough to get into the recording booth, he would have forced his way in a crossbow point- but it was, listeners. It _was_.

Do not believe any missing persons reports concerning me you may hear elsewhere. Don’t believe any missing persons reports _at all_. I have stolen myself, and the others here have never missing! I am here. Nasreddin is here. Tamika is here. I can’t tell you where ‘here’ is, exactly- not yet, anyhow- but I think, I _hope_ , that you will be here soon.

You should disregard what I said about- well, about most things I’ve said since Strex’s yellow helicopters descended upon the town. Not so much directly after, but certainly after that day when Tamika and her readers first took down one of their helicopters and I was forced to flee to the roof to complete my broadcast, and most especially after that day I was classified as confiscated contraband and auctioned off. The more astute listeners may have picked up on the fact that Strex is the one who bought me. I tried to get out as much of what was really going on as I could, but as their instructions grew increasingly specific, and their threats increasingly more terrifying, I found that there was increasingly little I could do.

So let us start with the corrections.

Strex is laying siege to our beloved town, Night Vale. They are currently in control of Night Vale Community Radio, the Dusty Hut, the Ralph’s, the NRA, and the Greater Night Vale Medical Community. They are behind the Night Vale Subway System, and they have spies in the Sheriff’s Secret Police. They are in negotiations to acquire the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex. There have been talks of opening a competing pizzeria and driving Big Rico’s out of town. The only things between Strex and the Night Vale Daily Journal are the low readership and high debt. Though I am currently in possession of myself, I don’t know how long that will last, as if I am caught I will be undoubtedly returned to Strex, so Leann  Hart may be the only news source in town on which you can truly rely. Don’t start buying her paper, though- that will only defeat the purpose.

Do not trust Santa Claus- either the regular CIA-conspiracy-of-drugged-bears type, or this new Santa Claus who claims to want to be our mayor. He does not want to be the mayor- he wants to make the position of mayor obsolete, and place control of Night Vale’s municipalities in the hands of some unknown CEO- presumably the same CEO who is currently in charge of the viscera-smothered hellhole that is Desert Bluffs.

Tamika Flynn is not missing, but rather leading a rebellion of children and a small but growing number of adults who find that they too have less to fear from rebelling than not rebelling: she has been waging a war these last few weeks with much more success than I would have ever been allowed to tell you about. Several helicopters have been downed since that initial crash- and each of their pilots appears to have been recovered by the Readers. Three of them are with me now: they do not speak English- in fact, I’m not certain they speak at all- but they appear to have worked out an ASL-based system of nonverbal communication with the Readers that fourteen-year-old Waisale Naivalu is translating for me.

There are two women and a man: the women are named Vuohkku and Ulartoq, while the man is named Xevgun. They all appear to be about my age, and about Tamika’s age. If Old Woman Josie were with us now, I suspect that they would appear her age as well. They are short, their proportions such that I suspect the condition is surgical in nature. They have pointed ears, but that it likely not natural as well- Ulartoq’s left ear has some skin missing from the top, through which metal is visible. Waisale has just now told me that she nearly ripped the ear tip off herself after she was rescued.

They are seated in the same hunched over, defensive posture that I am now consciously pulling myself out of. They are wearing what appear to be heavy woolen sweaters, of the kind that Old Woman Josie knits for all the town’s children. Each of the sweaters depicts a scene of gladiator combat, complete with bright red arterial spray in Old Woman Josie’s signature sequined style.

I don’t know what else to say. The three ex-Strex operatives are deep in conversation with Meaghan, and their hands- or, in Meaghan’s case, entire bodies- are moving too quickly for Waisale to translate.

You know what? I’m going to check my phone.

I have twenty-seven texts from Carlos, all dating from three days ago, which is the last time I was allowed out of the studio. They are… private, and very important, and I will read them in silence with the reverence they are due.

Wow.

Carlos. Oh, _Carlos_.

Just give me a few moments, Night Vale, there’s something- I just need to go, for a moment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Okay. Okay listeners, I’m back.

In addition to Carlos’ texts, and several ads for Strex Corp subsidiaries that am I deleting with extreme prejudice even as I speak, I have also received several voicemails. The voicemails- are from Dana! Wow, I wonder what she’s been getting up to. What do you think Christmas is like in that alternate plane of existence? Maybe we’ll find out. Maybe we won’t- it’s possible that there is no Christmas in that place. Also, some of these messages are really old. Some of them appear to pre-date Christianity entirely.

Hmm…

_Cecil- Cecil, I made it to the alleged mountain, and I’m not alone any more. There are angel-like beings here, though I still don’t believe in angels. They’re really kind of cool. One of them,_ **Erika**   _, has this really huge flaming sword, and they’ve promised to teach me how to fence with it! Hold, on I’ve got to-_

_0-) <_

_I- stop! Stop it! This is important, he’s going to worry! Sorry, Cecil, it’s just_ Erika _, they’re such a joker. They told a really funny joke the other day: “How many angels does it take to screw in a light bulb? A little old lady!” Isn’t that hilarious? Anyway, I’m learning so much here- but, Cecil? Cecil, don’t tell anyone, but I think Old Woman Josie may have had a point, and there might be angel-like beings in Night Vale too._ Erika _says there are, but_ Erika   _also says that angels are immortal, and that their time has come to an end, so I don’t know what to think._ Erika _says that I shouldn’t think, I should believe, but when I told them that I believe in the City Council and not in mountains or angels they got all huffy and_ Erika _had to calm them down._

_Just keep your eyes peeled for anything strange, okay? If there are angel-like beings in Night Vale- if these angel-like beings are in Night Vale- then something big is happening.   _ **Erika** _isn’t just teaching me to fence, they’re training for something. I have to go Cecil. Be careful._

_0-) <_

_I’m alone again. It’s not so bad, this time-_ **Erika** _left me their sword, so I wouldn’t be having trouble even if I wasn’t alone, but I’m worried. Mostly I’m worried because there’s not much else to do: I don’t get hungry anymore, or thirsty, or tired. I don’t particularly need anything, anymore. I’m just wai-_

_Not anymore: Cecil, someone’s body has just dropped down in front of me. I’ve got to- **Vithia**!_

_0-) <_

_Cecil, I’ve got Vithia with me, and she’s fine. We’re both fine, and we’re not alone, Old Woman Josie is here with us, sort of. We can feel her presence, but in order to communicate we had to use my sword to carve an Ouija board out of the alleged mountain._

_Which was not easy!_

_You said it. Cecil, hopefully by the time you get this message you’ll have already figured this out, but the Old Woman Josie you can see and interact with in Night Vale is not the real Old Woman Josie. It’s her double, from Desert Bluffs._

_Dana? Dana, the planchette is moving_

_What? Okay, here. You fill him in._

_Mr. Palmer? Old Woman Josie says that Desert Bluffs exists only as a corrupted simulation of Night Vale, that Strex is using it as a place to figure out how to control Night Vale, and that if they succeed Desert Bluff will not be a twisted reflection of Night Vale, but Night Vale itself. She- Dana? Dana, what’s-_

_Oh. Oh, no. Mr. Palmer- we’ll have to call you back._

_0-) <_

_Okay, Cecil I have to make this quick because of reasons but there’s one thing that Old Woman Josie says you absolutely have to know: she says that the angels have been used to make something Strex Corp calls marketing analysts, and that their arrival will herald the arrival of a great evil disguised as a great good. I hope you got all that Cecil. I’ll see you soon._

That’s the last message. Did you hear it, Night Vale? Did you listen? I understand that this is a lot to process- I myself am experiencing difficulties- but it’s important that all those who can hear me try to understand. We have been lied to: not because it’s polite, not for our own good, not with the understanding of the underlying social contract of our society that tells us when to expect being lied to. We are in grave danger, and that danger does not even have to common decency to show itself to be dangerous!

Here to comment on the matter are Xevgun, Vuohkku, and Ulartoq, former Strex employees liberated by the Reading Club, as translated by Waisale Naivulu. So: how did you come to work for Strex?

Ulartoq says: We had no choice. They will say that we did, but the truth of it is that the Clause made it so that our choices were to either join Strex or starve.

Xevgun adds: His factory is huge: on a clear winter’s night you can see it from as far south as Maine. You couldn’t escape it.

Vuohkku is nodding her head. Just nodding, so I’m going to go ahead and ask “By the Clause, do you refer to the Santa Claus?”

An immediate, visceral reaction of horror. One “yes” from Xevgun, one “no” from Ulartoq, and one indecipherable look from Vuohkku. Xevgun and Ulartoq are signing rapidly at one another, while Waisale looks on in despair. Vuohkku leans forward and begins signing with deliberate care to the teenager.

She says: The Clause is how we refer to his rule. The man is Santa Claus. He rules the North Pole with an iron fist hidden in a velvet mitten. When he first came, we pitied him. He did not understand the harshness of the world. He wanted to make toys. We tried to teach him how to survive- the only advice he paid attention to was about reindeer breeding, yet still he lived. We should have known then that something was wrong, but we suspected nothing until he offered to show us his factory in the lights.

Ulartoq has broken away from her argument with Xevgun, and is saying: The Northern Lights. He’s built a factory in them, from which he can reach most of the Northern Hemisphere in an instant.

Xevgun adds: He can _see_ most of the Northern Hemisphere in an instant.

They appear to have resumed their argument. Vuohkku is still speaking with us, and she is saying: We still thought he was mostly harmless. He seemed like such a nice old man, and we were happy he had found a way to fulfill his dreams. He said he would need help. He said that he would need people to look after the reindeer. And to paint the toys. And to make the toys. He always knew when to ask- when food had grown scarce, when war or disease had ravaged us. We went willingly at first, and he never let us leave. We had to work, even when it changed us, even when it refused to let us change. He will do the same to you.

Xevgun and Ulartoq are… no longer arguing. Um, guys? We’re all still right here!

They’ve left, and listeners- I don’t know what to say, but to repeat myself: do not trust this Santa Claus. Do not elect him mayor. Do not allow him into your house, or if you feel you cannot repel such an invasion, then flee your homes if you value your lives, and your children’s lives.

It is not quite 8pm. Is anyone still listening? Is the noise at Xu Xin’s too loud for anyone to make out what I’m saying? Have your transistor radios been shut off so you can enjoy the movies? Are churches still impenetrable by radio waves? Are there people who stayed at home tonight listening in, or have they already been visited by this new horror?

Is there any point to this broadcast at all? Is there any point to anything I have done?

Oh, I have a call!

**CECIL GERSHWIN PALMER!**

…Josie?

**DON’T YOU DARE THINK OF GIVING UP!**

I-

**THINK OF ALL YOU HAVE LOST TO THESE INVADERS! THINK OF WHAT THEY STILL HAVE TO TAKE FROM YOU!**

Josie!

**WHAT?**

Are you okay? Where are you exactly? How are you making this call?

**I’m fine, Cecil. And you will be too. Sacrifices, both made and yet unmade, have been arranged to prevent a takeover such as the one which destroyed the North Pole. I know you won’t let those be in vain. As to the rest: I’ll be seeing you soon. We’ll all be seeing you soon.**

**Oh, and I left your sweater with the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home. If you have a chance to pop home for a bit, and she hasn’t set it on fire, then you should really put it on. You’ll catch cold.**

But Josie- Josie?

I think she hung up on me.

Well listeners. I don’t know about you, but I found that to be oddly comforting! Which is good because Tamika Flynn has, just now, walked into my make-shift studio and dropped a pile of books in front of me, whose titles include _Gulliver’s Travels_ , an omnibus edition of _The Guardians of Childhood_ , and _The Art of War_ , and I already don’t like where this is going.

**[Well, I already knew Santa Claus didn’t really bring presents on Christmas.]**

I kind of figured that.

**[Most of us knew, especially after the library. We just didn’t want to spoil things for you adults: you put a lot of effort into pretending that we’re still innocent, it’s obviously important to you.]**

Yes. I can remember feeling the same way when I was a little older than you.

**[I think we should stop lying to each other. We have plans to discuss. Can you leave the radio for a little while?]**

I think so. It seems like it’s time for another weather segment, don’t you think, listeners?

[[Walking in the Air](http://youtu.be/ubeVUnGQOIk)-[Peter Auty](http://songmeanings.com/songs/view/3530822107859303891/)]

It seems as though I am going to catch cold listeners, because as you may have gathered from either the weather or simply by looking outside it is snowing in Night Vale. An unnatural snow, tasting of carbon and sulfur- if it weren’t for how very cold it is, I would say it was not snow at all, but ash. I would go and try to retrieve my sweater, but there’s not enough time, and I haven’t actually been in my home for a week, and my Faceless Old Woman gets antsy when I’m not home, so she’s probably already set it on-

^We at Night Vale Community Radio are hearing some very distressing rumors. Very dis-^

Who was that?

^These rumors concern the three market analysts which are visiting our town, in order to bring more of a focus to our needs. There are people, and I can’t think of who they might be, who are saying that these are not marketing analysts- that they aren’t even human! There are people who are saying that these are fallen angels.^

I know that voice, listeners. I have heard that voice before, and it is not to be trusted.

^And all of these fallen angels are supposed to be named Erika! Why, who ever heard of such a thing?^

Everyone. Everyone knows that even though no one’s supposed to know that, because that’s how things work! Listeners- do you remember the sandstorm we had earlier this year, the one that showed us our doubles? That’s my double you’re hearing on the radio! That’s my double who tried to kill me! That’s my double from Desert Bluffs!

^-expel air from your lungs, like a hiccup. That’s laughter, the sound you make when you realize that this rumor is patently ridiculous. I promise you, those three market analysts have individual names and families.^

Oh yeah? What are they then?

^They are Melchior, Caspar, and Balthazar. Melchior’s wife is named Kagpha, and their children are Larvandad and Hor. Caspar’s wife is Badadakharida, and their children are Gushnasoph and Karsudan. Balthazar’s wife is Badadilma, and their children are Hormisdas and Basanater. There, you see? Would I know so many details if I were making things up?^

Of course you would! And- hold on.

Intern Nasreddin has just informed me that those are the names of the three Magi said to have come to the Nativity. All of those names, the alleged members of each so-called family corresponding to different names of the same Magi. Thank you, Nasreddin. If you didn’t earn one already, I hope Professor Krishnaswami is revising your grade to an A as we speak.

^-no attention to the man sharing this bandwidth! They are just marketing analysts. Harmless market analysts- more than harmless, they are beneficial. They are here to help. They are good, just like Santa Claus.^

Did anyone else here that clattering noise?

^What possible objections could anyone have to Santa? Who would pick on a jolly old man who just wants to bring joy to all those who have earned it? Why ever-^

There it is again! It’s incredibly hard to see anything, listeners. In addition to the snow, a heavy, acrid-smelling fog has enveloped the town, making it impossible to make out more than the profiles of figures more than three feet ahead of me. A few are unmistakable: Tamika Flynn, Klaas Moestadja, and Nayo Fola Olatunbosun. The rest, both child and ex-Strex, blend together into an indistinct blur of people shorter than I am. I could be wrong, but I don’t think that clattering noise is coming from them.

^Starting at 11pm, we’ll be reporting live from our Santa Doppler radar, so that all you kids listening at home can know when Santa is going to be in your neighborhood. But until then, we’re going to play that most wonderful of holiday classics, “The Christmas Shoes” in order to help the climate along.^

That monster! Listeners, it seems as though our broadcasts cannot overlap, and that when I speak my voice takes precedence. I don’t know if there is a distance factor, or if the effect will last through the night, but I will talk for as long as I am able in order to protect you from potentially-fatal exposure to that death trap.

The clattering noise has stopped, and I can’t say for sure whether that’s bad or good. I still cannot see much- wait. There’s something large moving just at the edge of our undisclosed location- is it one of the golems, or is it a bear?

It is neither. It’s Pilar Quispe, president of the Night Vale Roller Derby Association and Night Vale’s Most Beautiful Woman. Sorry, Pilar.

One of the Readers has just now come up to me with news. It seems that we can now confirm that the churches remain as jealous as ever, and on this night, when so many people who otherwise avoid church feel compelled to attend, they often refuse to open their doors until after midnight. Also, it appears that the protective blessings which keep Night Vale’s churches demon-proof still do not allow radio waves, or indeed much of anything else, inside. This is a good-news-bad-news situation: the good news is that slightly less than half of Night Vale’s adult population, along with perhaps a sixth of the children, are currently safe from whatever terror Strex and their Santa Claus have planned for tonight. On the other hand, they are also without warning that there is going to be such a terror, and are still expecting nothing more dangerous than drugged bears.

To those of us did not go to church tonight- you at Xu Xin’s and the Ruslanevas’, you who stayed home, you children who no longer have the option to pretend to believe in Santa Claus and you ex-Strex pilots who were rescued by them- it seems like it is up to us to save Christmas, before those of us who did fo to church can find out that it was in danger.

There is probably some sort of moral to be found here. I doubt that everyone would ever agree what it is, so instead, allow me to draw your attention to the strange glow shining in the fog, growing ever closer, even as the children take up defensive positions with well-practiced discipline.

The glow appears to be coming from the Sheriff’s bandolier, but the bandolier is no longer on the Sheriff. Instead, it is on a reindeer, whose mouth is dripping red. He’s charging the line! But he didn’t even get within three feet of it before being felled. This is not the victory I wish I could report, as there are several more reindeer charging even as I duck for cover.

Wow. This is a lot of reindeer. This is- listeners, the carcass of one of the beasts has just landed in front of me- nice shot, Nasreddin- and it appears to be wearing blinders. Are they all wearing blinders? Are the navigating by sound?

^- _it’s Christmas Eve, these shoes are_ -^

Night Vale, I find myself in a predicament. Not only am I surrounded by rampaging reindeer, but they are likely attracted to my current undisclosed location by the sound of my voice. But if I stop speaking, the only thing on the air will be “The Christmas Shoes”, which seems equally unhelpful.

But the reindeer are still coming. They won’t stop coming. There are so many reindeer- no, this is too many reindeer. How many reindeer is this guy supposed to have, it’s like, eight or ten, right? Twelve, at the most.

Waisale! Waisale! What does ‘this’ mean?

Oh. Listeners, he translated from Xevgun that these are not the reindeer that pull Santa’s sleigh, but rather the contestants in the Reindeer Games, a contest of brutality which decides which reindeer will be granted the power of flight. That explains why they are only attacking from the ground. Small mercies, I guess.

Also, Waisale says that they can probably smell me, so I might as well keep talking. To which I must reply: I have been locked in my studio for three days. No one smells good after they have been locked in anywhere for three days! Unless, I guess, they’ve been locked in a perfume shop or some- GAAAAAAH!

^- _you hurry sir, Daddy says there’s not_ -^

I’m okay listeners! I’m okay! I am merely lightly grazed, no need for alarm. The reindeer appear to have ceased their attack, though the fading clatter of hooves makes me believe that they are not in retreat, but merely regrouping. Meanwhile, our defenses have been trashed, so we _are_ going to retreat.

^- _to look beautiful, if Mama meets_ -^

I will remain on the air as we run.

Aaaand we’re running.

Still running.

Running, running- REINDEER!

If nothing else listeners, I am confident that this winter Night Vale will be in no danger of experiencing the kind of venison-and-noumbles shortage that ravaged our community in 2002. This eerie army of children and semi-immortal wage-slaves modified to look like elves that I find myself in the midst of is proving itself to be highly effective against reindeer!

There’s a bright light up ahead. I don’t think it should be there.

^- _remind me just what Christmas is all about_ -^

He’s found us. He’s just standing there, beneath the light, waiting, with a smile on his face.

Tamika is signaling her troops- we’re going to attempt to defend ourselves. But, Night Vale- I don’t think we’ll be enough. To anyone who can hear me- you must hold out hope, and hold on to each other. We may yet be able to bring this monster down with us, but if we cannot- then it is down to you. This is our town, and we know it better than any Corporate Eldritch Official ever could. We know that, even with little warning, when the churches open reinforcement will arrive. We know, as much as anyone can know, the darkness and the fear that pervades our town and we have embraced it. We know better than to think that being nice is enough. We learned that lesson long ago- and I have every confidence that we can teach it.

So, for what may very well be the last time: Good night, Night Vale. Good night. And good luck.

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

[[The Christmas Shoes](http://youtu.be/GJcPVB-we7g)\- [NewSong](http://www.elyrics.net/read/n/newsong-lyrics/the-christmas-shoes-lyrics.html)]

 

 

 

Listeners, I’m back. I’m back in my recording booth, and I am not locked in. I do not even have the door closed. If you listen closely, you can hear the sounds of Intern Nasreddin stripping the paint from the windows. To the family of Nasreddin, I would like to extend my heartfelt thanks for whatever influence you had in shaping him into the resourceful young man he is today. To the families of Mozelle, Tebano, and Phil: the paramedics that bandaged my graze have taken them to the hospital, where there is some hope of either their eventual recovery or a swift and painless death. If you wish to decide which it’ll be, I’d advise you to head out now.

To everyone, for everyone: Santa Claus is no more. My fears that we would be unable to defend ourselves were entirely true, and also unnecessary, because we were not alone.

You heard me, Night Vale, not just tonight, but before: you understood the danger I was not allowed to communicate and you responded appropriately. I had hoped, given Carlos’ messages, that this was the case, but I didn’t want to raise false hopes- or alert whoever might be listening in. I barely dared to hope myself until I caught sight of one of the Ruslaneva’s satellites hovering over the rooftop, and saw the sight of Mrs. Singh’s sniper rifle trained upon Santa Claus’ forehead. I’m fairly certain I caught sight of Carlos’ cold-weather lab coat in among those of you setting fires to the Ralphs. It was extremely heartwarming.

It also would not have been enough. The three marketing analysts descended, their unearthly, totally illegal origins rendering them impervious to any of our weapons, and lending the same imperviousness to Santa. That’s when the light began to intensify: when three other beings of more ambiguously unearthly and illegal origins descended upon the vacant lot out back of the Ralph’s. One of them looked like, sounded like, and identified herself as Old Woman Josie. She was flanked by two 10-foot-tall beings of immense power, one carrying a sword and another wielding a backpack as kind of mace. They spoke as one, in a voice so powerful that it must have been heard even in Desert Bluffs:

** ::“Old Man Frost, your time has come.”:: **

Were the two flanking figures Dana and Vithia- had they ever been Dana and Vithia? We will likely never know, and we will certainly never be allowed to know. At any rate, they battled the three warped figures until they collapsed sobbing, slowly becoming more recognizable as the Erikas which were, until recently, common seen at Old Woman Josie’s: the six were last seen headed in that direction. Presumably, they have gone to challenge the thing masquerading as Old Woman Josie to a duel to the death.

As for Santa Claus- the moment the market analysts fell he was beset upon by the ex-Strex employees, who proceeded to tear him limb to limb. He screamed, terrible screams which no amount of reeducation is likely to erase from my memory, and then he stopped. And then the ex-Strex employees began to wither and die. Not all of them- but those who had been under his employ since before 1900 certainly. They turned into dust, mixing with the snow which continues to fall. It’s a different snow, though- cleaner, less foul-smelling.

I had been prepared to battle my way back in here, Night Vale, even as I dreaded returning. But when we arrived, Nasreddin and I found only Mozelle, Tebano, and Phil in a near-catatonic state. Daniel and my double had fled the studio- they were last seen fleeing town, pursued by several bears.

I know what you’re thinking: why weren’t the golems helping? Well, they were! Once Tamika figured out Santa Claus’ MO, she realized that the war with the tiny city under lane five would be a perfect opportunity for him to exploit. The Rabbi herself has just been around to confirm that Ba’al and Asherah were entirely successful in their defense of our town, and the tiny warriors have retreated to their city, after taking losses which will take months if not years to recover from.

Nasreddin has started removing the soundproofing now, and I can hear the church bells ringing. It is half-past midnight on Christmas day, and Night Vale is as safe as it ever was at this time of-

*CECIL!*

Carlos! Hold up, just- I realize that the reindeer carcasses and the snow and the burning Ralph’s must be confusing everyone who’s just left church, so here’s the weather!

[[Whoville (Won’t Get Yuled Again)](https://soundcloud.com/mojochronic/whoville-wont-get-yuled-again)\- [mojochronic](http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/g/grinch/your_a_mean_one_mr_grinch.html)]

Listeners, we are at the end of my broadcast, because according to Carlos I am urgently needed at home. So urgently, in fact, that he has not let go of me since entering the recording booth, and is currently now standing behind me, with his arms around my waist, and his head resting on top of my head. So I will leave you with a few concluding remarks:

*Hurry up, mahal, you need a shower.*

Like you can talk Mr. The Scientist.

*Hey, that’s Dr. The Scientist!*

This is not an end to the threat hovering over our town. Strex is still out there. Strex may, technically speaking, still own and/or control many things in Night Vale, including this radio station and myself- though I have heard that the Interim Sheriff is currently purging many of her officers who were responsible for the auction, so it’s possible that the sale of the last one will be declared null and void. In either case, this is not the last we’ve heard of them.

But it is also not the last they’ve heard of us. We banded together against corporate tyranny, and made a brave stand in favor of government-mandated democracy, and for as long as there is a threat made to that democracy, I have every confidence that we will remained banded together. We have more than enough venison to satisfy even the worst of Jack Frost’s sinister cravings, several potential new citizens who have already demonstrated their willingness to die and kill in battle with enemies of our town, and normal working hours will not resume until the new year begins. This may not be happily ever after, but that doesn’t mean it’s not happy.

I leave you now to the musical death match between the Trans-Siberian Orchestra and Mannheim Steamroller, with color commentary provided by Christopher Lee and Grant Imahara.

Happy Holidays, Night Vale. Happy Holidays.


End file.
